


Exonerated Person

by quiet_wraith



Series: Categories of Depuration [1]
Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types
Genre: Aftermath of the Rebellion, Gen, Minor Violence, The Capitol, Worldbuilding, lots of headcanons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-13
Updated: 2020-05-20
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:07:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24171034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quiet_wraith/pseuds/quiet_wraith
Summary: At the end of the day, there’s not much one can do when they can’t access information and have plenty to lose. Lia Whittingtaker tries, though. Her contribution - a handful of leaflets scattered in an alley - is laughable in the grand scheme of things, but it’s more than what the average Capitolian does. The consequences, however, are nothing to laugh at. A second-year law-school student cannot stand up to the National Committee of Internal Affairs.
Series: Categories of Depuration [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1744570
Comments: 18
Kudos: 13





	1. Before

For a second Lia thought that the NCIA agent was going to punch her, but he settled for shoving her off the bench. “Hey!” she exclaimed in surprise as she fell onto the floor, which was freezing against her bare arm. Another agent, also a man, yanked her back up and placed her onto the bench. Lia shivered from the cold, as well as from fear. There were three of the agents in the room, and they were all broad-shouldered men. She was only wearing a t-shirt, and the room was freezing cold. The National Committee for Internal Affairs didn’t miss a trick.

“Now,” said the agent on the other side of the desk as he settled back into his seat, “this is your last warning. Explain to me why you scattered those leaflets!” The pale man’s voice would have been pleasant, if not for the words he was saying.

Last warning? Last warning before what? “I thought it was the right thing to do!” Lia began desperately. “They’re just children I-” A slap from the agent behind her made her fall silent. Her ears rang from the blow, and her face and neck burned with pain.

“I do not care about your naive ideologies! I want names!” snapped the pale man, sounding like he was going to lose his temper shortly, as the dark man added in a quiet voice, “He is serious. You know what the consequences will be, right?”

Lia burst into tears. The pale man sat back in his chair. “Now, let’s run through this again. Name?”

“Lia Whittingtaker,” she said for the third time already.

“Age?”

“Twenty-four.” She wiped her face with a shoulder.

“Occupation?”

“Second-year law school student.”

“Occupation of parents?”

“Both civil servants.” They barely made the official minimum wage, but at least they had that proud job description.

The dark man sighed behind her. The pale man rubbed at his face. By the door stood another agent, a man with tan skin. He didn’t move a muscle or say a word. Lia stared at the table.

“Lia, Lia,” said the pale man, “don’t you see what kind of trouble you might end up in? You and your parents both. I know you’re a smart woman, you wouldn’t have come up with this stupid idea on your own. Just tell me who put you up to this, and you’re free to go.”

“Nobody put me up to this,” Lia said, wishing they’d just believe her already. She wished she had never scattered those stupid leaflets. “Please, don’t do anything to my parents!” she begged, folding her hands in front of her. “I swear, they don’t know anything about this! They even think I’m in the library right now!” Lia had been snatched off the streets of the university campus on her way there.

The pale man tapped his pen. “Library, huh? You a good student?” Lia shrugged. “I know that shrug. All of you Placement Jobs Association types are the same. I bet you’re a star student, with stellar marks and all your professors love you.” 

The PJA was a bit of a joke amongst the professional-school students. While working part-time as a cashier or janitor was a common alternative to taking out tens of thousands in loans (not that it helped that much), a student who wished to be a janitor at an architectural firm or a cashier at a courthouse coffee shop had to send in their transcripts as well as a resume. The idea was that students who couldn’t afford to become (unpaid) interns would at least be able to familiarize themselves with the day-to-day life in their desired profession. Thus, the PJA boasted the highest average GPA of all of the fraternities and sororities, as well as the lowest average family income.

“Well, I guess I’m above average.” The first year of law school was supposed to be the most difficult, but Lia had managed to excel, if only compared to the people who only got good marks because their parents had connections. So far, second year was basically just as bad.

The dark man patted her on the shoulder. “Don’t sell yourself short,” he said. “It would be a tragedy if someone as bright as you were unable to continue their studies.” Lia panicked inwardly. She had no idea what to do. They wanted names, but she had none, and giving the names of random people could come back to bite her quickly. 

“I’m sorry,” she said, tears welling up in her eyes all over again, “but I did it all by myself! There aren’t any names for me to give!”

“Give me your hand,” said the pale man with a sigh. Cautiously, Lia stretched out her right hand, her non-dominant one. That proved to be the right decision. The man began to bend back her fourth finger. Lia winced at the pain. 

“Hurts, right?” said the pale man as the dark man moved over to restrain her. He cuffed her ankles and left wrist to the bench, and stepped back. The pale man pulled her finger farther, Lia gritting her teeth. “Names!” he barked suddenly.

“I don’t have any!” Lia wailed. The man yanked her finger sideways sharply. Pain exploded in her hand, and Lia screamed, trying to pull it out of his grip. It was futile. His grip was like a vise, and her other three limbs were cuffed to the bench. Her hand burned with pain, and there was no escape.

The man was breathing deeply. “This isn’t even close to what we can do to you,” he said. “Just give us the names, and it will all end!”

“But I’d have to lie, then!” Lia tried to explain, sobbing. “I don’t know any names!” She would have gladly named absolutely anyone, but they’d then find out she wasn’t telling the truth, and drag her back in, this time - for lying to them.

“You do want to see your friends from the coffee shop again, don’t you? Who is in the rebel cell with you?”

“Look, I swear, I know nothing about any rebellion! I just made a few leaflets on my computer!” Lia sobbed. “Please! I’ll do anything! There are no names!”

Her middle finger was broken next. Then her index finger. Then her pinky. Only then did the pale man finally decide that he wasn’t getting anything out of her.

“You keep it up,” warned the dark man, “and she’ll sell out her study buddies just to get out of here for a few days.”

The pale man sat back, releasing her hand and breathing deeply. “True, true.” He looked at her, and Lia lowered her eyes. “Get her out of here,” he snapped. As the dark man unlocked her cuffs and the tan man left, Lia cradled her right hand to her body. The fingers had all been adjusted to be more or less straight, but they were badly swollen and slightly crooked. 

“Alright then, Lia,” said the pale man. “You don’t want to end up in here again, do you? And I know you don’t want to be kicked out of law school.” Just a few hours ago, that threat would have been enough to make Lia do anything, but now, she didn’t care. 

So what if she was kicked out? She could just go work in another coffee shop. It wasn’t the end of the world. Lia walked down the corridors, wincing with pain when the slightest movement jarred her hand. The three agents escorted her out of the NCIA headquarters and pushed her out of the side gate. A couple of people walking by averted their gaze. Not only was this The Building That Could Not Be Photographed, many didn’t even like to look at it, or at the lucky ones who emerged from its basements unharmed.

Well, almost unharmed. Lia shoved her left hand in her pocket, but not the right one. It felt hot and sore, and the slightest touch made her grimace with pain. At least she knew the way home from here.

* * *

Lia’s phone chimed. Swearing internally, she checked to see who was texting. It was Toni, one of her friends, and she was asking Lia to meet up at the park close to the university because she apparently had important news. Lia was not in the mood for news, she just wanted to go home and sleep for the next week (or, failing that, do her readings), but important meant important. Reluctantly, she stayed on the subway past her stop, heading all the way into the municipality where the university was located.

“Hey,” said Toni quietly. The park was a good place to meet, as the branches rustling in the wind would do a decent job of covering up the microphones, and the cameras would only see two students strolling - and that was if they were even activated, or, indeed, existed. The security budget tended to be spent on luxurious cottages for high-ranking NCIA officials instead of actual security. “I found out what happened to Dr. Angelo.”

Dr. Angelo was one of their professors and the most boring person in the world. He tended to go on monologues that put everyone to sleep. He had also been missing the past week, as well as his wife, Dr. Jones, another one of their professors. There had been rumours about allegations of Rebel activity and “ill health”. “Well, now I’m interested,” Lia said. “Was he finally fired for those monologues?” she joked weakly. Toni shook her head.

“A student gave him cholera,” she whispered.

“What the actual fuck?”

Toni launched into an explanation. “Basically, remember when he was accused of Rebel activity a few years ago by an enemy who wanted the faculty chair for themselves?” Lia nodded. “Well, one of his students failed the bar exam, blamed it on Angelo, and decided to get revenge in a way that would frame that enemy. They managed to steal a few keycards and sneak into a lab where research was being done on cholera..” Lia was slightly terrified by the fact that someone could just break into places like that. “Then, they stole a small sample and placed it in Angelo’s water bottle. They were only found because the theft was noticed, and the NCIA ran a detailed investigation, eventually catching the culprit. They haven’t even released the name, though.”

Sometimes, the NCIA actually did something good for society. The cameras everywhere disgusted and terrified Lia, but sometimes, they could help catch a dangerous would-be murderer. There had to be a better way, though. “So what happened to Angelo and Jones?” Lia had never heard of anyone getting cholera, but she knew that it could kill in a single day.

“Jones was too scared to call an ambulance, she thought it was the work of an enemy, so she just cleared the pharmacy of rehydration salts and electrolyte drinks and took care of him by herself.” Toni shook her head. “She spent days practically pouring it down his throat by the litre. Angelo was near death from what I’ve heard. You know, the NCIA being the way they are, it’s hard to accept-”

“Yeah.” Lia nodded, trying to bend her fingers. They didn’t move a millimetre, and Lia just felt a fresh wave of pain for her efforts.

* * *

At home, Lia struggled to make dinner with only one hand. She opened the tap in the kitchen with her good hand, filled a pot with water, and put it on the stove. Then, she went back and turned off the water. With one hand, she turned on the stove, opened the cupboard, and took out the box of pasta. She only poured in enough for herself. Mom and Dad would probably just get takeout.

She stirred the pasta with a spoon so it didn’t stick to the pot. You weren’t supposed to put pasta into cold water, but she was too lazy for that. Lia waited for the water to boil, planning how she would hide her injury from her parents. If they noticed, she’d tell them that she fell down, and they’d buy it, but they’d still fret, and just the thought made her feel sick. She’d have to be careful. Today, they’d arrive late, but in the morning, they’d wake up around the same time. She’d have to make sure to be out of sight when leaving, so they wouldn’t notice her untied shoes.

The water began to boil, and Lia stirred the pot, unsticking the pasta. This was shaping up to already be a huge pain in the ass, and she kicked herself mentally for having been caught. Good thing she was of age. Otherwise, they’d have immediately dragged her parents into the mess, and they could have been fired over it. They liked to tease her for being a bleeding-heart, and while they weren’t exactly Games fans either (though Dad’s parents definitely were), they had no idea about the extent of it all.

Draining the pasta turned out to be a nightmare. Lia ended up getting another pot, putting the strainer in it, and then pouring out the water into it. She shook out the water, put it back down, dumped out the water, and got a bowl. Then, she realized there was no way she’d be able to grate cheese the normal way, not with one hand. Cursing her own stupidity and wishing she had never made those leaflets, Lia got a plate, put the grater on it, held it in place with her elbow, and grated the cheese. The jar of sauce, fortunately, opened easily. She held it with the crook of her elbow and unscrewed the lid.

Lia glanced at the clock and swore. This was taking far too long. She dumped the pasta into the bowl, poured some sauce on top, and then added the cheese. She put the jar and block of cheese into the fridge and sat down at the table to eat. They had a mini television attached to the ceiling, but she didn’t bother turning it on. The last thing she needed was to listen to the evening loudmouth (the identity of the brave soul who had popularized that name through a song was a mystery) just after being tortured by the NCIA.

The thought made her shudder. They had _tortured_ her. It felt wrong to think about herself that way. In her mind, torture meant being beaten with hoses until you denounced your own parents. Still, though, she had been in those basements. They had hurt her. Lia wondered why she felt so normal. She was sitting in the kitchen eating pasta as if she had actually tripped on the stairs and broken her fingers that way. Shouldn’t she feel different, somehow?

After eating, she clumsily rinsed off the dishes and put them in the dishwasher. She checked her phone and computer for any news - half of her Torts class was flipping out over something, but that was par for the course - and settled down in her bed to study, window open to let the stifling but fresh air in. When Mom and Dad came home, she peeked out her bedroom door to say hello and immediately retreated. As she had predicted, they had with them takeout cartons. Curry, going by the smell.

* * *

Since there weren’t any customers at the moment, Lia flipped through her readings. She had class in three hours, and there wasn’t such a thing as too much studying.

“You look dead,” Cordelia said. “Is everything alright?” The third-year law student was turning on the cash register.

Lia shook her head. “Stayed up late last night.”

“What?” asked Petronius in mock horror. “You? Stayed up late? Did you lose track of time in the library or something?” he joked. He was also a third-year law student, and always acted like he procrastinated a lot, even though he didn’t.

“I ran into a building yesterday,” she said, holding up her bandaged hand.

“A building?” Petronius asked. “Did you get your readings done, at least?”

Lia nodded. “I just need to go through them another time.” She scrolled down on her computer, Petronius looking over her shoulder.

“You do know that the constitutional law stuff is actually optional, right?” he said. “Even the bar exam’s gonna have nothing about that.”

Her hand hurt badly. Lia grimaced, cradling her right palm in her left. “Too much experience with ‘optional’ readings,” she joked. Petronius nodded and started to go through a thick book with a blank cover. Probably also readings.

In reality, Lia knew full well that nobody cared what the Constitution had to say and that no professor would ever ask questions about it. Sometimes it seemed like the readings were only assigned to draw out the politically dangerous and bring them into the spotlight, where they could be dealt with. And yet, Lia was fascinated by it. It spoke to her on some level she had never known existed. Freedom of speech? The right to protest peacefully? Mad ravings when compared to reality, and yet such beautiful ideals.

Ever since middle school, Lia had been aware that something was very wrong with Panem. It was ironic that school, of all places, had given her the tools she needed to understand her feelings in depth and be able to voice them. No matter what the motivation had been, whoever had designed the program had taught her that there had once been a different way to run a country.

What Lia was fascinated even more with, though, was the suggestion that nobody was immune from prosecution. Wouldn’t that be something? She often wished that someone would sweep in like an avenging angel with indictments for wings and overthrow the regime, but she knew that was nonsense. Overthrowing would come before indictments in any case, and who would do it? The Districts? They were too busy struggling to stay alive, locked in that zone between being comfortable enough to have free time to think and organize, and being too desperate to care about consequences. The Capitol? The endless warnings to fear the Rebellion, which had allegedly infiltrated everything, were patent nonsense given how blatantly political all the major cases were. The spectre of the NCIA hung over anyone who tried to incite rebellion in the Capitol. Other countries? Not while the Capitol had nuclear weapons.

Still, Lia had printed off those leaflets and scattered them. An appeal against the Games, the most common theme of any anti-Snow protest. Maybe someone had seen them, and felt more confident about doing something themselves. Even a little thing surely had to count.

Three people approached, and Lia put her laptop aside and stood up. “Good morning,” one of them said, a middle-aged man in a sharp, dark suit. “Could we please have three medium double-double coffees and eighteen assorted donut holes?” That was smart of the man. There were six varieties of donut holes. The two people behind him were a man and a woman, slightly younger and more brightly dressed, and they had eyes only for the coffee that Cordelia was pouring. Lia picked up a box, struggling to fold it, and put the requested donut holes in, holding the box against her body with her right arm.

“What happened to your hand?” asked the younger man.

Lia put the box on the countertop and clumsily closed it one-handed. “Fell down,” she said vaguely. The man nodded.

“Applications, huh?” asked the middle-aged man. Cordelia and Petronius nodded glumly. The man proceeded to interrogate them about the finer points of business law. Cordelia answered while finishing making the coffee. Neither got a single question wrong. Lia was now even more worried. “And what about you?” he asked Lia while paying for the food. “What year are you in?”

“Second,” she said, hoping he wasn’t going to start questioning her as well.

“Studying hard, I hope? I know it must be hard, with the Hunger Games coming up and everything.”

“Studying takes priority over everything,” she said, not meaning it.

The man smiled and nodded. “You know, I used to work here when I was in law school,” he said. “PJA represent!” He then left at a quick walk, clearly running late to something, the two younger people already eating the donut holes.

Knowing that just made Lia even more stressed. All those impossible questions! Was she really going to learn all that somehow? She went back to her readings. Her right hand felt inflated. When she tried to bend the fingers, there was an odd springy sensation, followed by pain if she continued.

The reading may as well have been from a different universe, with how little it applied to reality. Lia was instantly sucked in despite the dryness of the text. Just the idea that someone could protest openly against the government was hard to reconcile with reality. Next to her, Petronius was telling Cordelia a kitchen-joke in a whisper so quiet, Lia had to strain to hear from just half a metre away.

“Alright, so a homeless person is running around the streets shouting that Snow is a murderer. A Peacekeeper comes to arrest them. The people on the street say, ‘Don’t hurt them, they’re clearly mad!’ The Peacekeeper answers, ‘No, they aren’t, they’re talking sense!’”

The three giggled quietly. Lia remembered her favourite joke.

_A pensioner wrote to Snow on his birthday, wishing him everything that the Districts wish for him. The next day, they were arrested for plotting to kill the President._

She smiled a sickly smile, staring at the portrait hanging on the wall. Her fingers hurt again. No, she wasn’t going to say that out loud. Not even here.

Petronius then launched into a lengthy complaint about how the hot-water pipe in his building had burst and the entire basement was flooded, but the repairs would only be carried out in a week. This was happening on top of the renovations that kept on starting and stopping, making the building even more dilapidated than it had been before. Lia nodded sympathetically. There had been cockroaches in their building for years before a few of the busybody pensioners had managed to figure out a way to blackmail the superintendent into hiring an exterminator.

* * *

When asked a question she didn’t know the answer to, Lia found herself bursting into tears. Dr. Suetonius stared at her, confused. “What’s wrong?” he asked. Whenever Lia didn’t know the answer she was always able to cook up some sort of reasonable response, but now, she wiped at her face as an odd anxiety seized her, making her unable to think or concentrate.

“I’m sorry,” she said, and sat down.

“You didn’t answer the question!” the professor said. Lia just cried harder as she slowly climbed back to her feet. The class was staring at her, and she wanted to sink through the floor. She tried to figure out an answer to the question, but her mind was blank, scraps of ideas skittering around and finding no purchase.. 

“I’m sorry,” she muttered again.

“I don’t need your apologies,” said Professor Suetonius. “I need an answer.”

An answer. She could give an answer. She had done the readings. Why wasn’t her memory working? It wasn’t even that difficult of a question. Think. Think. Slowly, painfully, she remembered the answer. The professor tore it to shreds and demanded a better one. This time, she responded much faster, and as the small back-and-forth continued, she felt herself become more confident again. Finally, Dr. Suetonius let her sit down. Lia slumped into her chair.

“What’s wrong?” her neighbour asked. Lia shrugged.

The rest of the day went normally. That crying fit must have been a one-off thing. What had it been caused by? Maybe the outward similarity to the interrogation made her brain short-circuit, like a PTSD flashback. Lia grimaced at the realization. If those NCIA assholes had fucked up her brain permanently, there would be no fixing it. No therapist would agree to treat her, not unless she managed to get in touch with someone discreet, which was impossible without serious connections.

On her way to the library, Lia picked the same route as yesterday on purpose. No emotional response. So not everything about the encounter was a trigger, then. Maybe it was really just a one-off thing. She approached the huge building, already looking forward to sitting down in her favourite armchair.


	2. After

_One and a half years later_

Lia darted inside the building, sounds of not-so-distant fighting fading just a little bit as the door closed. It had picked up just an hour ago, and the professors had all let them go, with a final ‘good luck’. Classes had been useless for the past few weeks, though, with many of the students and professors surrendering in droves or fighting on the front or helping out in hospitals. Snow insisted on maintaining regular routines so that he could pretend the Capitol wasn’t collapsing right in front of their eyes, but everyone could see that the end was near. 

Not having any desire to try to get home in the chaos (it was not too much farther away from the front and was probably being evacuated anyway), she decided to hide in the library instead. She texted her parents and claimed that she didn’t want to try to push through the chaos. Their upset reply was immediate, but they had no arguments. As she had thought, they were being evacuated, and couldn’t do anything about being separated from her. Feeling bad about deceiving them, Lia headed for the library. And she knew the exact part she wanted to go to, too.

There was a special section deep in the basements, where some banned books were held, as well as rare books that needed climate control and the like. Before, she would have never even dreamed of being allowed inside, but now that there were no guards sitting by the turnstiles, Lia simply pulled open the glass door, hopped over the low barrier, and stepped inside. Not quite the Presidential Archives or the restricted-access stacks of the State Library, but these shelves were also full of treasure.

Several others, however, had gotten the same idea. This section of the library had its own electricity supply that could last for months, and even though the doors would lock in a way that would make getting in _and out_ impossible, the allure of a well-lit, climate-controlled space with vending machines that could be raided was too much to resist. At least for a few people. There were four of them, a surprisingly small number, trying to smash open the window of a vending machine with a hardcover textbook.

“Hello,” Lia said as the glass broke, leaving a hole big enough to stick a hand through. “You also going to try to wait it out here?”

The student with the textbook, a skinny dark-skinned man with white vines tattooed on his face, shrugged as he smashed the glass over and over until he could put his hands in safely. “As long as they don’t try to bomb us,” he said, pulling out bottles of water. “Or charge in, guns blazing. Might as well be here, in a secure vault, with plenty of water and books to read.” He handed out the bottles, one by one. Lia put down her empty bag and began to fill it. She took out the bookbag that had been lying folded at the bottom, as the vending machine had what looked like a hundred or so bottles of water and soft drinks. A lot, for the five of them, but how long would they be in here?

There simply wasn’t enough room in her bags for all the drinks. Lia stacked them next to her, as did the others. Two of them, clearly a couple, couldn’t keep their hands off each other. The fourth person, a woman with light-brown skin, eyes, and hair who was wearing a sweater (also light-brown) that went to her knees, looked at the piles sceptically. “I think that if the water cuts off, we’ll have other problems to deal with.”

“You think the toilets will, what, back up?” the dark man asked. He went over to the other vending machine, which was full of snacks. “Still, better here than scurrying like rats from one hiding spot to the next until the guns stop firing.” His gaze fell on Lia’s hand. “What happened to your hand?”

Lia’s fingers were permanently crooked. She had full range of motion where it mattered, but the joints hurt sometimes, and she suspected it would only get worse as she got older. “The NCIA happened,” she said calmly. Now, at least, she didn’t have to hide it.

The dark man shook his head. “Murderers,” he said, gritting his teeth. “They took my cousin last week.” The worse the situation got, the more fanatic the fanatics became.

“My condolences,” said the light-brown woman. “They hauled me in for interrogation once, but they let me go after kicking my head in.”

The other woman untanged herself from her boyfriend. “So, are you all thinking of surrendering to the Rebellion? I know we are. It can’t be more than a few days.” Lia hadn’t quite realized that most people who didn’t want to surrender would have tried to evacuate, and most people who wanted to surrender would have done so already. Now, though, it was too late for the university neighbourhood, and probably the entire municipality of Lodgepole. The town council had refused to surrender without a fight, which meant that everyone who hadn’t surrendered on their own would have to hunker down in basements and hope their building didn’t collapse on them.

Lia wondered why she wasn’t afraid. If something catastrophic happened, there would be no time to get out, even though the exit wasn’t too far away. In days at the latest, the artillery would be firing, and pods would be activated, ready to kill anyone who stepped wrong as they engaged in bitter firefights. And yet, Lia took bottles of soft drinks and cans of juice, trying to stuff them into her book bag. Metal and glass clinked as she crammed them in.

There was an odd flickering and the lights dimmed slightly in the cavernous space. Outside the door, they shut off completely. A quiet hum picked up. Lia checked her phone. No service. Someone must have jammed it. “Well, my parents are going to be panicking,” she said darkly, imagining their terror. The others nodded, and the dark man started to dole out snacks from the other vending machine. Chocolate, trail mix, gummies, energy bars, cookies, chips. Not something Lia had any desire to live on for any length of time.

Food doled out, the five stared at each other. “Well,” said the dark man. “Now, we just hope the sewers don’t back up and we don’t get an artillery barrage on our heads. I’m Marcus, by the way.”

“I’m Lia.”

“Bellona.” That was the light-brown woman.

“Andreas,” said the other man.

“Victoria.”

They picked up their things and trudged off in the direction of the study rooms. Lia’s book bag was nearly overflowing with bottles, and she clutched the cans in her hands. She walked inside a small room, pushing open a door with a poster affixed that called for total silence. She placed her things on the couch, surveying her haul and wondering how to best organize it. 

Besides the drinks and snacks, she had her phone (useless), keys, and wallet. In her backpack were a laptop and a charger that turned out to not work. Lia assumed that somehow, only the lightbulbs were being powered - in any case, though, playing solitaire for days on end was not her idea of a fun time. She also had her pencil case, agenda, a two months’ supply of pads, a small container of painkillers, and a single thick hair elastic.

The drinks, she decided to stack to the side of the couch, and the snacks stayed in her bag. Lia took her now-empty bookbag and went to wander the stacks. She saw the others doing likewise, but didn’t approach them. The endless void outside the door terrified Lia, and she tried not to look at it. Instead, she focused on the books. The ancient books. She raised a hand to brush the spine of a book whose date was given as ‘1976’. 

Hesitantly, she took it off the shelf. The paper was yellowed and felt fragile to the touch. She was afraid to even handle it, but she still flipped a few pages with the lightest touch she could. It was a history book, she realized. A history book written just years before the Cataclysm. She looked at the shelves, realizing that this was the section of pre-Cataclysm works. Their years of publication spanned roughly the period between 1800 and 1985, with still older books locked away behind a glass wall nearby. 1985. Was that the exact year when the missiles had flown? Was this the remnant of the library that had stood here before the Capitol had been the Capitol?

Carefully flipping through the pages, Lia was sucked into a forgotten tragedy. A world ravaged by a century of war, and just when things seemed to be calming down, something must have gone seriously wrong to launch the Cataclysm. Very few books had been written in the next few decades. The printing industry had survived, though, the handful of old books in the open stacks attested to that. Labels such as ‘1998’ and ‘2005’ decorated them, though all the copies she had seen were more recent editions.

Lia wandered around, leaving the oldest books behind and heading for the ones who could explain it all to her. There were foreign books whose mere titles made it clear why they had been banned. Banned, and yet kept here, for people who had permission from the Minister of Information himself to read. Why? Had the well-connected liked to read those kinds of books, the ones that called out Panem with the harshest of words? She picked out one book, a plea for nuclear disarmament, and one written fifty years later. Panem was the only country with nuclear weapons? But why had no other country tried to achieve balance? 

But then again, the last time they had had balance, the world had ended up destroyed.

Placing the two books in her bag, Lia headed for the law section, curious to see what sort of forbidden knowledge lurked there. She stopped short at the section preceding it. Political science. In the open stacks, it contained propaganda, but here, there were books about diplomacy and war and international law. She tried to flip through one, but had to give up after realizing that she knew nothing about any of these countries, not even their names. Lia went back to the general history section, looking for something more introductory. She placed a few books in her bag, and then, urged by a curiosity she could not explain, went towards the J section of the pre-Cataclysm books. Since she started from the back, the first subsections she encountered were JZ, international relations, and JX. International law.

What she found there was an odd combination of idealism and cynicism. The constant references to various wars and genocides confused her, but the picture was clear enough. People had tried to usher in an era of international cooperation, despite failure on every corner. That had gone up in radioactive ash, and with it, the dream of a united world. Lia moved to the post-Cataclysm section, morbidly curious to see how that last part unfolded. Some places were completely uninhabitable, even over two hundred years later, though they were small-scale patches of land where old nuclear reactors hadn’t shut down correctly. 

Something else was revealed to Lia by those foreign books. According to them, Panem was the worst place to live in the entire planet.

It was the butt of dark jokes the world over. The entire world had always known about the continued existence of District Thirteen, they had just been completely unable to communicate it to Panem. People chafing under the yoke of a dictator consoled themselves with the fact that at least they didn’t have the Hunger Games, or trembled in fear at the thought of them happening in their own countries. Panem had the worst inequality in practically every category, income and life expectancy and infant mortality and literacy and a long list of others. It didn’t trade with any other country, at least not officially. And, of course, no other nation endured anything nearly as malicious, sadistic, and cruel as the Hunger Games.

Lia walked back to her study room, bag stuffed full of books. She opened up a book on the history of Southeast Asia since the Cataclysm (it had been written just ten years ago, how were all these books being bought? Unethical proxies?) and a packet of pretzels (200 calories, assuming a totally sedentary lifestyle she’d need to consume 1400-1500 daily), and began to read and eat as the sounds of fighting didn’t get any closer.

* * *

The cold woke her up, as always. Lia closer her eyes again, jamming her hands deeper into her pockets. She fell asleep again. Then she woke up. She had no idea what time it was, what day it was. Was the sound of battle closer than before? Lia had no idea. She sipped some water, not nearly enough to get rid of the dryness in her mouth. Then she walked to the bathroom. So far, all the plumbing was working, but the water was so dirty she was too scared to wash her hands in it. A filter must have been damaged somewhere. Lia was careful to not touch the food she was eating or the parts of the bottles her mouth came into contact with.

She stumbled back to the study room. She sipped some more water and ate three hundred calories’ worth of energy bites and gummies that were a pain to unwrap without touching. But was it really tomorrow yet? How many calories was she consuming? Lia tried to eat and drink as little as possible, afraid that her supplies would run out. Once the water ended, she’d have to smash open the glass door and walk through the darkness, trying to find an exit.

What book was she reading? Lia had no idea. She picked one at random from the shrinking stack next to her. She was too scared to go out to put them back and get more. Even going to the bathroom was scary at times, as the stillness unsettled her, but seeing someone move around was worse. Sometimes, she could hear someone crying.

The book was interesting. The edition was recent, but it was a piece of literature nearly a thousand years old! And there were even footnotes explaining all the confusing things. Lia read until the book ended. She sipped some water. She read another book. She went to the bathroom, yawning. When she got back, she lay down on the couch and tried to sleep. It was cold. Her feet were cold. There was nothing to cover herself with, she only had her thin jacket. Lia fell asleep.

* * *

Glass shattered. Lia woke up and crawled into a corner, hugging her knees and trembling. Footsteps. A gunshot, painfully loud. A scream. Swearing. Running.

“Is anyone else in here?” demanded a voice. “Step outside now!”

Lia peeked outside, still shaking like a leaf. Three soldiers holding guns were looking around. She emerged hesitantly, hands in the air. The light-brown woman and the dark man did likewise. Lia tried and failed to remember their names. Where were the couple? Had that been the gunshot?

“You know, Sarge,” said one of the soldiers, “this isn’t what I asked for when I said I wanted to see something valuable. Even the vending machines are empty!”

“This is the most valuable thing you’ve seen in your life, Soldier,” snapped another soldier, presumably the sergeant. “You damage anything at all, and I’ll pull your guts out of your ass.” He was looking around with a soft smile on his face, reaching out to touch the books lightly with a clean fingertip. The rest of his hand was grimy. “I can’t believe I’m back!” he said to nobody in particular. 

The third soldier wasn’t paying attention to the books, either. “Hey, look,” she said, looking into the study room she had just emerged from, “that bag’s full of candy!”

“So that’s where the vending machines were emptied!” said the male soldier, as the sergeant demanded the three of them hand over all candy at once in the name of the Rebellion. Lia obeyed, watching sadly as the sergeant took all the best things before letting the other two divvy up the rest. 

The sergeant put them against the wall. “Name?”

“Lia Whittingtaker.”

“You know how to do anything useful, Whittingtaker?”

Lia was taken aback by the question. “I’m a third year law student. I work at the coffee shop at the Justice Building close to here.”

“ID?”

Lia handed it over.

“You’re urgently needed,” said the sergeant, handing it back to her. “Wait, what’s wrong with your hand?” he asked in a surprised tone.

“The NCIA did it to me.”

He blinked. “Go to the Justice Building at once. If anyone interferes, show them your ID. They’ll know you’re Category One. Run!”

First, though, Lia grabbed her backpack, which was now devoid of snacks, though the soldiers had thankfully not stolen the laptop. Lia ran, backpack hitting her with every step, but only as far as the entrance. She carefully picked her way through the broken glass and walked down the corridor, looking for the stairs. Eventually, she found her way up. There was light ahead! She sprinted now, opening the shattered door and stepping into a scene of devastation. As her eyes got adjusted to the light, she wondered if she was hallucinating a scene from one of the books.

All around, buildings lay in ruins. The library’s upper floors were damaged, and an entire corner was missing completely. The Justice Building was clearly visible ahead, looking comparatively unharmed. People were milling around, clearing rubble or just roaming aimlessly. Soldiers were everywhere. On her very short trip to the Justice Building, she was stopped six times, each time by very low-ranking soldiers. Lia picked her way through the rubble, stepping aside for vehicles.

Up close, Lia could see that the Justice Building was also damaged, but relatively superficially. Most of the windows were missing and the walls were pockmarked where bullets had hit them, but it was clear no pod had exploded near or in it and neither had it been damaged by artillery. She walked inside, and saw chaos. People were running to and fro. Repairpeople and important-looking military people scurried around. The place had been turned into a headquarters.

Noticing people with laptops, Lia tried to check her phone before remembering that its battery was long dead. Someone stopped her. “ID?” they asked. Lia showed them the employee card of a worker for the chain of coffee shops the courthouse kiosk belonged to. “Finally!” exclaimed the person. “Everyone is saying they can’t be spared. Go work!”

Confused, Lia continued walking in the direction of the coffee shop. There was a huge line, and it was staffed by one person Lia didn’t recognize. She had never worked with anyone except Cordelia and Petronius.

“Um, hello,” Lia said. “I’m here to work.”

The young woman sighed irritably. “Couldn’t you have showered first?”

“I was ordered here.”

“Whatever. Wash your hands and take over register two. There’s a steady supply of coffee, but that’s pretty much it.” Lia ran into the back, wondering what was happening to her parents. She’d need to ask the others what was even going on.

* * *

“None of this makes any sense,” Toni complained. “First they off Snow at the speed of lightning, and now they need months to go through the Gamemakers? Where is the logic?”

“They haven’t even started with the key criminals,” Lia pointed out. They were sitting in the library, reluctant to go outside and face the January weather. “They’re still doing research and whatnot.”

Toni leaned back on the soft couch they were sitting on. “They haven’t even _picked_ them yet.”

“Far as I can tell, they’ve figured out the crimes, but need to fit defendants to them. Thirteen’s got a database, but it takes a while to sift through it.”

“Probably never expected to hold trials,” Toni said darkly. Her friend had a low opinion of Thirteen, to the point where Lia still hadn’t revealed to her that she had scattered anti-government leaflets before. “Did you hear about how Coin wanted to hold a Hunger Games with the Capitol’s children?”

Lia nodded. “She’s dead, though.” And her supporters were mysteriously disappearing from public life. Lia wasn’t sure why the Gamemakers got months-long trials but Thirteen generals who had ordered the use of child soldiers got brief courts-martial and immediate executions within the same day. It was like double standards, but backward.

“A feather in the cap for proponents of the Great Man theory,” Toni grumbled. “In any case, I don’t trust those ones from Thirteen. Especially the defectors. They run off, let us hide out in basements as tanks drive past, and then waltz back in to be handed the Capitol on a silver platter! And now this nonsense with the trials. I’d get it if it was all a show trial like with Snow, but now they’re running around staying the hand of vengeance or whatever. It’s a mockery of law.” Having finished that brief rant, she lay down on the couch, textbook over her face.

“They seem to really be trying, though,” Lia said, feeling defensive of the overworked lawyers and researchers who queued to buy coffee from her. “In the queue, it seems like all they discuss is precedents. They’re going all the way back to 1474, apparently.”

Toni sat up abruptly, nearly dropping _Advanced Business Law_ on her legs (which could have resulted in broken bones, given the size of the book). “Have they lost their mind? How can that ever be relevant?”

“It’s the first documented case where the doctrine of command responsibility was used, even if it did not take the form established in 1945. It was technically run by an ad-hoc international tribunal, not quite setting a precedent but still demonstrating that these concepts are older than one would think.” It was a shame that so much information had been buried for decades thanks to the intense censorship. “Also, the defense lawyer apparently put up a serious fight.”

“Wait, what?” Toni looked fascinated. Now that they weren’t limited in what cases were politically appropriate and thus allowable to study, many law students, and also completely random people, were discovering an intense interest in international and military law, or, indeed, anything having to do with the outside world. “What’s the name of the case?” Toni took out her phone, fumbling with the little buttons. Her expensive touchscreen phone had been stolen by a soldier, and most of her family’s assets had been confiscated by a Depuration tribunal. She had only been able to get a new phone the previous week.

Lia tried to remember, but she had overheard the conversation while making coffee with one hand, taking an order with the other, and cleaning up a spill with the third. “Let me look it up,” she said, taking her computer out. Several people looked at her enviously. The majority of personal computers, even older models that took several people to move, were currently residing in the Districts, together with the mobile (and sometimes even landline) phones.

* * *

“So, what do you actually have?” asked an exhausted-looking elderly woman whose ID identified her as being a lawyer for the defense.

“Everything,” said Lia.

The lawyer stared at her with wide eyes. “Everything? Even the fresh vegetables?” Trial staff had their own canteen and the defense lawyers had practically taken over a nearby coffee shop, meaning that this was likely her first time at the kiosk. Only those involved with the trial could eat there, to decrease the risk of re-sale on the black market.

“Nothing but the best for the Trial of the Key Criminals Before the Inter-District Military Tribunal,” Lia yawned. “Humanitarian aid is being put to good use. We need to all show gratitude for our new international friends.” While the entire country was on relatively low rations, as there was a limit to how much other countries could provide, trial staff and workers for other Inter-District Committee enterprises were much better off. The outer District poor claimed that they were eating better than they ever had in their lives, though.

“Oh. Um.” The lawyer looked around nervously. The line behind her looked resigned. “Could I please have a small coffee with one cream, a medium black coffee, a veggie wrap, and fifty assorted donut holes?”

“No!” snapped the younger assistant behind her. “They’ll start fighting over their favourite types. Fifty jam-filled. They’re the best.” 

The lawyer looked ready to argue about what types of donut holes were the best (even though the assistant was obviously right), but acquiesced. Lia started to toss the little balls into a box one by one, struggling to keep count. “Anything else?” They shook their heads. “Who are the donut holes for?” she asked as she rang them up.

“The defendants,” the lawyer explained. Lia was taken aback by the mental image. “My client asked for a treat to cheer them up. Warden Vance said he’s okay with it, just this once, so.” She shrugged as she paid for the food in cash. “Thank you very much,” they said in unison. “Have a good day.”

“You too,” Lia said.

“We’ll try,” they said, and left. Today would be the first court session of the trial. Lia had never heard of a major case being brought to court this absurdly fast (not counting political ones), but hundreds of people had worked round the clock to get it done. Today, they’d start reading the indictment. Lia was curious to see what it said, as she had only seen bits and pieces so far in the media. The defendants had apparently reacted very weirdly to it.

“Next!” Lia said. A prisoner worker asked for five litres of black coffee for some group or other. It was only five-ten in the morning. Lia had two hours and fifty minutes left before she had to go to class.

“Next!” Lia’s eyes nearly fell out of their sockets at the sight of a lean middle-aged man in Peacekeeper dress uniform. He asked for a medium double-double and a cheese bagel. This was Dr. Wreath, the lawyer defending the Peacekeepers from the Coast Guard branch! Lia had seen him before, as few wore that uniform now. Was he really insane enough to turn up to the actual trial dressed like that?

“Next!” A researcher from the documents unit begged for two large black coffees. They were going through archives both Web and paper and looking for evidence, and seldom got to rest.

“Next!” A journalist ordered for herself and a friend. An espresso shot and a small green tea. Now, they would be ready to start sniffing out gossip.

“Next!” A lawyer from Nine’s prosecution team asked for a small noodle soup, a bagel with cream cheese, and an extra-large hot chocolate. The outer District teams considered the coffee shop and the cafeteria the height of cooking, which made Lia feel very sorry for them.

“Next!” The coordinator of the witness guest-house handed in an order form for coffee and donuts for what was probably the entire guest-house. Witnesses who had nobody to stay with and couldn’t afford a room (even a mostly pod-wrecked one) lived in a former luxury townhouse Kezen had refurbished into a basic hotel. People from all over Panem, perpetrators as well as victims, managed to coexist side by side there. Lia darted into the back to hand over the order form.

“Next!” Two young lawyers from Thirteen’s prosecution team asked for ten assorted donut holes. They left bickering about what type was the best.

“Next!” A journalist from Thirteen asked for a small coffee with one cream and interrogated Lia about her past. “I’m an exonerated person,” Lia explained, holding up her damaged hand. “See this? NCIA work.” The man was unimpressed. ‘Exonerated person’ merely meant she had done nothing wrong, not necessarily something right. “Look, we couldn’t all get in touch with the real movers and shakers, alright? Some of us had to stick to drawing posters on our computers and scattering ten copies in a back alley. Here’s your coffee. Have a good day. Next!”

Another researcher asked for a medium coffee with four sugars. Lia pitied her teeth.

“Next!” The judge from Two ordered for all the judges, handing her a list. Lia took a marker and labelled each cup with the judges’ initials. The stocky man from Two smiled slightly when he saw it. She assembled the required donut holes and sent him on to wait for the various wraps and sandwiches.

“Next!” A prisoner worker, the assistant to an orderly, asked for a litre of coffee.

* * *

Mom and Dad hissed with rage when they heard back from the Depuration court. Fellow travelers, both of them, which meant they would keep their jobs. On the other hand, though, high-ranking positions were closed to them (not like they had ever hoped to rise so high), they had to do a hundred hours’ community service (they already helped with clean-up initiatives for four hours a day and ten - on weekends), and they could not apply to have their stolen property returned (the car had stood idle for years, as they had never had the money to repair it but had hoped to take out loans once Lia’s computer had been paid off).

“I thought maybe because of you, they might show clemency,” Dad sighed as he rehydrated potatoes. Even Lia seldom got fresh food in exchange for her ration coupons. The can of mixed fruit sitting on the table had been bought on the black market.

Lia snorted. “All we get because of me is an extra two hundred calories for the three of us.” With her parents, she was as dismissive of the new government as possible, as she didn’t want to start a political argument. They had no idea she had actually scattered those leaflets. Lia let them think the NCIA had grabbed her by mistake, as otherwise, they’d have yelled at her for being stupid. She hadn’t wanted to reveal that at all, but there was no other way to explain her Depuration category.

“Could be worse.” Mom stared sceptically at the bread lying on the table. The uneven circles tasted more like cardboard than bread. “Did you see how those criminals flipped out when they got those donut holes?” One of them had been their boss’ boss’ boss’ boss’ boss, which meant that they had zero sympathy for any of them. “Like small children, honestly.”

Dad sighed again. “I’d do a lot for a donut hole. Can’t you steal us one?” he asked teasingly.

Lia had often contemplated simply buying one, but they needed all the money they could get. The utilities bill still had to be paid, and everything had to be bought on the black market for prohibitive amounts of money. All of her socks had holes in them, but she refused to settle for the monotonous diet the three of them were stuck with. “They’d fire me,” she lied. In reality, she ate her fill during breaks. “Like when you were fired way back when.”

“The manager scapegoated me because he was the real thief,” Dad hissed, jabbing a finger in the air. That had been when he was in middle school, but he still burned with indignation. “I actually just found out he was arrested for breaking a bunch of labour laws. Serves him right!”

Mom laughed and hugged him from behind. “I guess they can do something right,” she said, kissing him on the cheek.

“I guess.” Dad rotated slightly to return the hug and laid his head on Mom’s shoulder.

Not interested in watching her parents act cutesy, Lia went back to her readings, wondering if she should tell them about the leaflets. Ultimately, she decided not to. Calmer that way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I headcanon the Cataclysm as having been the result of the Cold War going hot in 1985. I can elaborate more on that if you want.
> 
> The Great Man theory is an idea according to which history is shaped primarily by extraordinary individuals. One can see why it would be easy to label Katniss as one of these “great men” if one was not well-aware of what was really going on with her.
> 
> The line about ‘staying the hand of vengeance’ is taken from Robert Jackson’s opening statement at the Nuremberg Trial of the Major War Criminals. In my headcanon, Paylor becomes an expert in how societies rebuild after the war, allowing her to become a voice of reason as opposed to Coin. The opening statement is a seriously amazing speech, even if you can’t look at it in hindsight without wanting to cry. Here’s a link for the curious: https://www.roberthjackson.org/speech-and-writing/opening-statement-before-the-international-military-tribunal/
> 
> The trial from 1474 that is being made into a precedent counter to all reason and logic is the trial of Peter von Hagenbach, and it did indeed feature the first known usage of the command responsibility doctrine (though not in the modern sense that was established at the trial of Yamashita Tomoyuki in 1945). It also featured the defense lawyer saying the tribunal legally had no jurisdiction over his client and the ‘you did it, too’ defense, both mainstays of international law to this day. If you’re interested in learning more, check out The Hidden Histories of War Crimes Trials (eds. Heller and Simpson), chapter 2: The Trial of Peter von Hagenbach: Reconciling History, Historiography, and International Criminal Law by Gregory S. Gordon. The book is open-access, here’s the link: http://fdslive.oup.com/www.oup.com/academic/pdf/openaccess/9780199671144.pdf


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